


drink from a lie (and kiss me afterwards)

by reminaissance



Series: Parállaxis [3]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Anna cheats on Hans, Eventual Smut, F/F, Los Angeles, Minor Heterosexual Content, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Unrelated Anna/Elsa (Disney), with Elsa ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reminaissance/pseuds/reminaissance
Summary: What happens when Anna and Elsa meet one day at a party at the top of the Hollywood Hills? An electrifying tension that will be too hard to resist. Eventual Elsanna.Inspired by the song "Magnets" by Lorde ft. Disclosure.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Series: Parállaxis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727911
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86
Collections: The Elsanna Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. You know when you listen to a song and it is stuck on repeat and you just can't stop listening to it over and over again until some miracle happens that makes it disappear? Well, this happened, but not only was the song stuck in my head, this thing would also not leave me alone until I wrote it. I have no excuse and absolutely no self control. Sue me. All I wanted was mad sexual tension and Elsa in a suit. There is no plot here, no major reveal, this is a three shot and dassit.  
> 2\. This is also going to become part of a series called Parállaxis. I've decided that like two days ago when I was on my way to work and daydreaming about EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO I COULD WRITE ELSANNA IN. They'll be non-related shots unless I state otherwise, based on songs I am obsessed with. Of course, I'll suggest you listen to the songs, and of course, suggestions are welcome.

_'Cause I felt melting magnets, babe; the second I saw you through half-shut eyes. I love this secret language that we're speaking; say it to me, let's embrace the point of no return._

—Lorde ft. Disclosure, "Magnets."

**_1_**

Dusk begins to slowly paint the sky a cobalt blue.

Farther beyond, the sun is kissing the horizon. It expands its light as it goes, making it burst into a bright orange hue before it disappears completely, giving way to a starlit night as they drive through the Hollywood Hills.

They're out on the Jaguar tonight. A roofless classic. Blue—the color of the ocean. It is her favorite after all, and this is something that Hans has always let her choose.

Her hair is up in a bun, having had no time for anything else, while the few strands that she's missed keep flying across her forehead as the car roars and speeds down Mulholland Drive for yet another party. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. She's grown accustomed to them just as much as she's grown accustomed to her marriage.

They require the same kind of effort; the same kind of pretense.

She looks out at the green hilltops: a maze for the rich. It is the privacy, she eventually learned, because nothing is better than living in the Hills, and nothing is better than living distanced from society and higher than everyone else.

The sun is gone by now; tucked away for the night to give way to a sky that has been painted black and speckled with white. Her forearm rests atop the door while her hand flies against the wind, curving up and down, mimicking the shape of a wave.

Her eyelids are growing heavy, becoming lost in a haze. They have gone through this road so many times before it is starting to become bleak. The lights of the city far away blur and grow out of focus until they meld together and get lost against the darkness of the hills.

She doesn't know whose party it is tonight; has no interest in knowing. She shows up because Hans wants her to. Because, he says, he _needs_ her there. It is this same need she once craved. The attention he gave her, as though she was the prettiest and shiniest object he had ever laid his eyes upon.

An object meant to become his.

She closes her eyes, and allows herself to fall into the backdrop of the city.

.

The mansion's driveway is so big it could fit a second house. There are cars loitering the space by the time they arrive, and she glances at them with a detachment that has grown since the first time se attended a party like this. The Audis, the Ferraris, the Porsches—too much ego carried around inside a structure that can break in a matter of seconds.

She gets off before Hans has the time to step around the car to open the door for her. It is something he has never stopped doing but something that, lately, she has stopped waiting for. She looks at him through her long lashes and he smirks, closing the Jaguar's door before pining her against it. She feels the hem of her skin-tight dress ride up, giving way to a warm hand's touch on her bare thigh.

"I can't wait to get you home," he breathes against her neck and she nods, smiles a little. Her hand travels up his chest and holds on tight to the lapel of his white shirt.

She doesn't pull him closer.

Inside: another mansion and another person too rich to care. She greets everyone she knows and everyone she doesn't know, too, with a tepid kiss on each cheek—never touching—, and somewhere between the high-ceiling foyer and the garden she accepts a glass of red wine.

Every place she's ever visited has a pool, and this time the pool opens to a view of the city and the hills. Like an edge to infinity.

She looks at the translucid clearness, bright and blue from the lights coming from below. The water moves in soft ripples caused by the summer breeze before lapping at the mosaic walls, creating a sound that she can't hear below indiscernible conversations.

She feels the sudden urge to take her heels off and dip her feet in the coolness of the pool, but Hans's hand is still on her waist, guiding her towards the places he wants to go.

She follows without protest. He needs her here.

The conversations: she hears but doesn't listen. There is a certain process here, a mechanical response that she has fallen into. Her attention zeroes in on words, like single threads of a whole garment, but nothing else. Nothing more. She knows how to act the part by now. She follows the eyes of the participants, is attentive to where his husband's gaze falls. She laughs and smiles, her hand going up to readjust her earring, her fingertips traveling up and down the golden chain around her neck.

She remembers the first parties she used to relish with Hans by her side. The first view of Los Angeles from the top of the Hills, and the sense of importance that came with it.

How easy is it to welcome wealth into your life and to forget that everything comes at a price?

She goes up to take a sip but something happens along the way. It is a push. Somebody has tripped behind her; a chain reaction that causes her to pour red wine all over the front of her dress.

She gasps at the sensation of the liquid seeping through the fabric and blushes at the embarrassment. A man is beginning to apologize profusely but what is the point of that? She dismisses him with a wave of her hand before Hans gives off an easy grin to everyone but her. He flashes her a with loving look, leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

"Go clean yourself off."

An imperceptible sigh escapes her. She excuses herself with a tight-lipped smile.

The kitchen. Marble countertops; a stainless steel fridge; so many cabinets that she doesn't know where to start looking for something as mundane as a towel. For a party, the space looks inhabited, straight out of a catalogue.

She opens and closes the doors closest to her right. Many of the cabinets are bare.

_Does anybody even live here?_

"Need some help?"

She turns around, startled, and finds a woman leaning against the frame of the door. She is wearing a suit that hugs the curves of her body and opens at her chest to reveal the barest amount of cleavage. Her blue eyes are penetrating, and she suddenly feels a little too vulnerable standing in the middle of the kitchen with a stain on her forest green dress.

"I was just looking for a towel," she mumbles.

The blonde woman walks straight to her, shortening the distance in four quick strides. She is hit with the scent of her perfume—elegant; a mélange of red roses and orchids—while her back is hit with the coldness of the marble top. She can feel herself blush before adverting her gaze. The woman is too close.

A whisper: "Behind you."

She lifts her gaze up, gets lost in the depth of her eyes for a second too long.

"I'm sorry?"

"Behind you," the woman repeats with a smirk this time.

She steps to the side with her eyes cast down. The woman reaches past her to open a top shelf and pull out a clean, white towel that she hands over.

"Thank you," she whispers, stepping away with difficulty in order to walk to the sink. She blows a little air through her mouth. Warmth is filling up her insides and she doesn't know why.

She pats herself slowly, distractedly. The woman is standing somewhere behind her. She can feel it—like a magnet, drawing closer.

She feels the need to fill in the silence. "Too much space in this kitchen," she laughs softly, "They don't know what to do with it."

"They don't use it much. There's no point when only one person lives in it."

Turning her neck to the right she can fully watch as the blonde rests her hip against the counter. She becomes distracted by the way her black blazer rides up slightly with the change of her position; by the small wrinkles of her shirt where it meets the hem of her pants before disappearing beneath them.

"How do you know?"

The woman gives her a smile, and responds with a question. "What is your name?"

There is something in the intonation of her voice that makes her lean closer before she can stop herself. She forgets for a second why she came to the kitchen in the first place and begins to fidget with the stained, humid towel.

Why does she keep avoiding the woman's eyes?

"I'm Anna."

A hand extends itself out. It faces up; an odd and peculiar choice. She is asking for her hand, but when Anna goes to touch it, the woman doesn't shake it. She wraps it in her own and squeezes lightly. Warmth in a cold touch.

"Elsa."

Anna dares another look before time slows down. She catches a flicker of emotion in the pools of her blue eyes that is gone too fast; that doesn't last long enough for her to be satiated. Because suddenly, she wants to know more—she wants to know everything that words can never manage to express.

They hold onto each other by the merest of touches while her eyes roam over the freckles on her face: softened, unlike her own. She could count them, if given enough time, but when her gaze travels down to her lips something inside of her snaps.

She retrieves her hand as though it's been burned.

"I have to get back," she mumbles. She rinses the towel quickly, neglecting whatever is left of the stain on her dress. It is dark, and it is night. No one will notice—and if they do, she won't care. "Thank you," she repeats.

Elsa stares at her, arches an eyebrow.

"For the towel, I mean. And for... yeah."

Anna goes back outside with a heart that continues to flutter wildly inside her chest, and forces a smile when Hans's hand reaches out to pull her closer by the waist.

She shudders, but it isn't from the cold.

He doesn't ask if she's okay.

.

More conversations. More of the same act. But every now and then: a glance. She catches the woman's eye from time to time, because whereas she didn't know of her existence before, Elsa seems to be everywhere now.

Their eyes connect as inevitably as the positive attracts the negative.

She is handsome in a way that falls between feminine and masculine; in a way that she owns as she stands tall with her right hand deep inside the pocket of her suit pants, while her left hand holds a cocktail she barely sips from.

Hans is talking now, pulling her away from the conversation and towards the place that she, too—this time—wants to go.

He introduces them again before Elsa searches for her hand once more. This time, it comes with a kiss on each cheek. They do touch and it is not tepid. Warm breath grazes her skin, and it feels like a searing mark that makes it hard for her to pretend she is not reacting. Anna is losing control of her body, as if she's drunk on the presence of her.

"She just bought this house," Hans tells her, but it barely registers.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks it all makes sense. The towel, the kitchen. The solitude.

Hans continues to talk to the rest of the group, to discuss things she has never found interesting. In the openness of this garden that overlooks a city of millions, she feels constricted.

She touches her husband's bicep. "I'm gonna get some air," she says, aware but careless about how ridiculous it may sound.

He nods, doesn't ask if she's okay.

Her eyes connect with Elsa's and linger for a moment before she steps away. She treads near the edge of the pool, half-wishing she could be inside, until she reaches the other end of the garden.

Seconds later, she will realize that the blonde has followed her.

"It's a nice view," Anna whispers. The right side of her body is burning. Elsa is too close again.

"It is," she hears her say. "It makes up for everything else."

When she turns her head around, she finds that Elsa is already looking at her.

Something snaps again. It takes her breath away, making her forget everything she's ever established about herself. She can feel her chest rise and fall in tempo with her beating heart. She gulps down the knot in her throat, and shudders once more. Her body is craving something it hasn't craved in a long time, and the way the blonde is gazing into her eyes is making it hard for her to resist it.

"Do you like it?" She manages to ask.

Elsa tilts her head. Her eyes dance across Anna's features, as though searching for something. She feels like caving in tonight. Her hands twitch against her sides, aching to touch.

"Like is not a strong enough word for what I feel."

Everything in her is screaming for something she is fighting to restrain. It makes her voice grow weak when she says: "Then what do you feel?"

The blonde bites her lip and Anna follows the motion with her eyes. She can sense their bodies draw closer to each other, sharing a kind of heat that is intoxicating.

Elsa leans in until her mouth is close enough to graze the shell of her ear. She closes her eyes with a sigh that is pulled out of her lungs, sensing liquid warmth shooting straight down to her center.

"I'd like to think I feel the same way you do."

.

It is late at night when they leave, with Anna feeling like her body has been shaken to the core.

She gets in the car, looking back to find no one standing at the door, reminiscing a night that hasn't fully become a thing of the past; wishing, against all wishes, that it had lasted a little longer.

The sensation of Elsa's presence has been hopelessly engraved in her mind, and every time she closes her eyes she can feel her warm breath against her skin.

As Hans drives through Mulholland her hand keeps going up to caress the shell of her ear.

"Does she host parties often?" Anna asks, lost in the memory of her.

"I don't know," Hans chuckles, dismissive. "Why do you care?"

She leans back against the leather cushion of his Jaguar. Her hand begins to fly with the wind again before she closes her eyes, pretending that the touch of it is warmer—softer.

Her entire body is screaming with heat. Yet, all she can manage to do is whisper two simple words:

"I don't."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song "Love is a Bitch" by Two Feet

_I'm flying high like a bird, but my fluttering wings can't keep you from pulling me down. And yeah maybe that's true cause I can't stop thinking about you. I'm trying not to forget my words, cause when I'm around you I tend to keep changing my mind._

—Two Feet, "Love is a Bitch"

**_2_**

The sky above Los Angeles is placid most mornings and from where she stands, she can always see it better than most. It comes with the benefits of living a life worthy of envy—of reaching the unreachable: a success that stands so high up it acts as a wall between her and most people she encounters.

It is a perk and a curse, to experience distance like this.

Now, this morning. The same. A routine she's built for herself, where she stops at the edge of her balcony and leans against its railing with a cup of coffee freshly made—for one. Her white shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, revealing a black brassière and the smooth, ivory skin of her torso.

She looks out at the mansions built at the feet of her own; at the city that blends and meets the morning sky in an imperceptible, blurred out line.

Her coffee is hot; bitter. She closes her eyes to taste it better but sees Anna instead—the woman who hasn't left her mind since the night they met. Here, at her own home. Seven days that have stretched out in one tortuous, single streak.

That night. Elsa saw nobody but her. Her eyes found her as she stepped onto the garden and didn't leave her again. She watched the exact moment of the accident that covered her dress in wine, and couldn't help but follow. She was drawn to her in a way she did not care to understand.

Because for the first time in her life, she knew exactly what she wanted, and she was standing right in the middle of the kitchen, looking for a towel in every cabinet except for the one that contained them.

She was enthralled by her, and dedicated herself to memorize everything she could about Anna. The soft lines of her jaw, the pink traces of her lips; the freckles that covered her cheeks, her shoulders. The curves of her body that traveled down in one perfect motion: from her neck, through her shoulders, wrapping tightly around her waist.

The softness of her skin, she could only imagine. The touch of her hand was the only thing she had allowed herself.

It was intoxicating, the sensation that Anna had ignited in her. Addicting. A sensation that peaked with her lips grazing the shell of her ear, long lasting that night, and the days that followed.

Like a burn, she had marked her.

And now, her fingertips begin to dance against the white ceramic of her mug. They tap with erratic impatience, increasing with every second that passes as it is fueled by the desire to see Anna again. She wants to be close to her; to feel her presence and succumb to the unsteady beating of her heart.

But will that be enough?

She pushes herself away from the railing of her balcony, away from a view she cannot stand right now.

Deep down, she knows the answer.

It won't.

.

She throws party after party. Every weekend: a different occasion, a different excuse—with the hopes of seeing her again.

And party after party, Anna doesn't come.

A month goes by, and she start to feel like it is over before it has even begun. When the second month nears its end, she begins to think that perhaps it is for the best.

But tonight feels different from the beginning, and when Anna attends with no one by her side, the line between what is right and wrong begins to blur again.

She watches her as she is welcomed in the foyer by people she knows but Elsa doesn't. She watches closely as she smiles before a hand goes up to touch the same necklace she was wearing that night. It's an action that masks or signifies something else; nervousness or pretense, Elsa doesn't know yet.

A slow motion scene. The moment their eyes connect, her heart feels like it has skipped a beat.

She doesn't dare smiling, doesn't dare moving an inch from where she stands somewhere between the glass doors that lead to the garden and her lavish living room. She chooses to take her time, but Anna doesn't.

Her hips sway a little as she walks towards her; slowly but not hesitantly. The intensity of her gaze forces Elsa to not look away. It glues her to the floor, grounding her with something akin to desire. How much power can the eyes of a person hold on somebody else? She has the time to realize, in the seconds that follow, that it is only as much power as she is willing to give. And at this point, she feels like giving her everything.

Anna reaches her, and doesn't stop. Her eyes don't leave Elsa until she's walked past her and stepped outside, beckoning her with the faintest of smiles.

Her heart is made out of magnets.

And Anna is the positive to her negative.

She follows her all the way to the edge of her garden, ignoring everyone as she goes. They are not here for her and she knows it. There is no reason to entertain, the mansion does it better than she ever could. A curse and a perk... this distance she places between herself and everyone else.

This corner where they stand; it is theirs now. No matter what happens, she will never be able to stand on it if it isn't with Anna next to her.

She watches her again from a few feet behind her, and tries to memorize this too. The image of Anna in her home. An image that stands between dream and reality. Hopeless.

"My husband couldn't make it tonight," she says after a while.

Elsa steps closer then, tilting her head to take a better look at her. A hand goes up to touch the necklace, and she gets it.

Nervousness.

"That's okay." Another step and Elsa is right next to her. Her hands curve slowly into themselves, holding onto the remnants of her self-control. 

"Anna," she murmurs.

Their eyes meet for a second that doesn't last long enough.

Elsa studies the way her lips curve, making way for a soft laugh. "I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispers. She avoids her eyes, blushing. This hushed intimacy between them, it reverberates like an aftershock. It makes it hard for Elsa to breathe properly; to think of anything at all.

And to think that she hasn't even touched her, yet.

"Do you not want to be here?"

Anna's chest rises—one, two seconds—and falls. Her arms go up to wrap around her torso as she looks at her from below her eyelashes. "You know the answer to that."

Somebody waves at them, and Anna waves back. A smile is plastered on her face before it is gone the next moment. It makes Elsa think of how good she is at this. How natural she is regardless of whether she is pretending or not.

"I don't know..." Anna continues, pauses, and allows the turmoil in her heart to show itself behind her bright blue eyes. "This place... these people... It's overwhelming."

They fall into silence inches away from each other. Elsa thinks of how strange it is: this pull. So sudden, and so fragile at the same time. All she has to do is lean down and kiss her—end this urge that swallows them both and keeps them from moving on. Satiate it, be done with it. She wets her lips, and watches Anna do the same.

But what stops her?

"Come with me," she says instead.

Her hand searches for Anna's, knowing full well that anything she gets to touch at this point will only increase the magnitude of her desire tenfold. But the warmth of Anna's skin doesn't just do that this time, not really. It ignites something entirely different, something so much more profound than pure lust.

What do people call the need that surpasses desire?

.

She takes her through Mulholland Drive in the only car she owns. A metallic gray Mercedes, brand new—it might as well have come with the mansion. She asks her if she wants the roof up or down, to which Anna says down. She asks her more than once if she's okay, to which Anna giggles at some point: "Is this your way of telling me that you aren't?"

She bites her lip through a smile, remaining silent until they arrive at the overlook.

The city's lights rob the night of its stars. But the moon remains, shining down on the path that Anna creates and Elsa follows. There is a reason that she insists on staying behind her. If she were to stand in front of her, she is not sure she would be able to contain herself.

"Won't they miss you at the party?" Anna asks her.

"They can't miss me if they don't know I've left."

She watches her nod.

A moment passes. Anna stands near the edge, looking out at a city that is still foreign to her. "Why did you bring me here?"

She takes a languid breath, and draws nearer before answering: "For the same reason you came alone tonight."

As she stands right behind her, Elsa can see the freckles on her shoulders through the light of the moon as though veiled by it; as unclear as the emotions revolving in her chest. She takes another deep breath, leaning closer as she does so. Anna's neck tilts to the side in response, the movement so faint she almost misses it.

She exhales through her mouth. It's suddenly gone dry.

"And what is that?" Anna asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I want to know the person I can't stop thinking about."

A shudder. "What makes you think I feel the same way?"

The corners of her lips rise in a faint smile at the defiance in Anna's voice. She lifts her right hand up before her fingertips begin to trace the soft curvature of her shoulder. They travel down her arm in a slow, tender motion as she watches Anna close her eyes and the pace of her breathing change. 

She knows that this fine line on which they thread can be broken with a single kiss. So she stops herself, restraining every cell of her body that craves the sensation of Anna's lips against her own. 

"It is your eyes," she murmurs, reaching past her elbow to gently grasp her hand. She intertwines them together, and watches her sigh, "Your breathing."

Elsa takes the copper hair that falls over her shoulder and moves it to the side, revealing the tenderness of her neck. "Your pulse," she whispers. The back of her fingers trace the skin that she finds there, relishing the ways in which Anna reacts to the touch. "Your inability to stop me."

"You're bold."

"No," she responds softly, "I'm scared."

Anna opens her eyes again and turns her head to look at Elsa from the corner of her eye. "Of what?"

Elsa extends her fingers so that they can fully rest against the skin of her neck. It prevents her from looking away.

"Of the things you make me feel."

There is a shift in the air. Anna places her hand on top of hers and gently breaks free. One more step forward, and she is too far from Elsa again.

She doesn't follow but stares at Anna's back, dark against the contrast of the city's background. A thin halo forms around the shape of her body; she looks ethereal.

Anna turns around with finality. Their eyes meet for an electrifying second before she says: "Can you take me home?"

.

She drives her to the richest suburbs of Beverly Hills in a silence that is suffocating—tainted by tension that has transformed itself; dragged back to a reality where all of this appears to be nothing but a dream. It feels as if there is nothing left to be done here, like the most bitter of closures.

She parks outside of her house, dark except for the lights that frame the gates, and waits for Anna to open the door, close it, and never look back.

But she doesn't. She turns to her, and in the darkness of the night, Elsa allows herself to be seen.

Anna opens her mouth, then closes it. It is too dark for her to grasp the meaning behind her gaze but something—the energy, these unspoken vibrations between them—is what allows her to sense an indecision that is almost palpable in this space they share.

It is what allows her to ask: "What do you want, Anna?"

Silence meets her question. She craves to reach out for her hand, to understand in a touch what can't be understood through words. But Anna sighs and soon enough, her response comes. "I don't want us to be strangers."

"We don't have to be."

They regard each other in a way that cannot—should not—be possible between strangers. Slowly, Anna reaches across the console to place her hand behind her neck. When their foreheads meet, she closes her eyes, feeling her need in the way Anna squeezes gently. Their breaths mix together in quivering sighs; warm, full of longing.

"I really want to kiss you," Anna says, and in the way it is done, Elsa understands.

"But you don't want to kiss a stranger."

Anna shakes her head, and it moves against her forehead.

"There's a lot of things I shouldn't want with you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This the last chapter of the mini-series. There's like, sex in it, so have fun I guess? I had 'I put a spell on you' in mind for this one. Not Nina Simone's version, but IZA's.
> 
> Anyway, stay safe!!

_I put a spell on you because you're mine. You better stop the things you do, you know I can't stand it, you're running around. But you know I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you anyhow._

—Nina Simone, "I Put a Spell on You"

**_3_**

The capacity with which she lets a week go by without seeing her—without being able to stop thinking about her, is astounding as much as it is frightening.

This fragility on which she stands. This sense of unbalance in the way she's been carrying herself through the days thinking about what it would be like to kiss Elsa and finally give in to this absurd desire that's been eating away at her mind. It makes the days go by in one single, apathetic note.

She sits by the window of their master suite looking out at the trees that grow tall from the sidewalk. Her fingertips tap at the glass with absentminded patience while she sits waiting for the beemer—his words; she's always hated how it sounds—to drive through the gate. She taps steadily once, twice, then thrice, imagining that she is mimicking the rhythm of her heartbeat. That she is marking the seconds as they trickle away from the present to fall into the past.

Is this really what her life has become? A series of steady—and oh, how _trite_ —moments tickling away from the weakened hold of her hands?

Is this how she wants to spend the rest of her life?

The gate suddenly opens, revealing the front of a black sports car before she smiles ruefully. The beemer.

A few seconds later the car will slowly drive in, and a moment after that her husband will step out of it; his tie already undone and draped around his neck; the first two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. He will crane his neck—the same neck she's held onto so many times before as he hovers over her in bed—and smile at her; wave a hand that she'll return by raising her own.

Between Hans pulling his suitcase out of the trunk and opening the front door, she will try to imagine for a brief, fleeting moment a second alternative for herself. And between the door closing behind him and the few heavy steps approaching the first flight of stairs, she will not be able to fathom the possibility of another life.

But perhaps...

This time she leans closer to the window again. She thinks that every innocent touch Elsa has left behind has lingered, like warm air spreading through the surface of glass.

Every touch of her fingertips has felt like a possibility.

She is attentive to the smallest of noises and soon hears the deliberate way in which her husband's feet approach the room they have shared for five years. She feels his warmth as it encompasses her back and then her entire body as soon as he hugs her from behind. She smiles a little—like a reflex—and rests her hands on top of his forearms. She tilts her neck to the side, knowing what comes next, before feeling his lips rest against her pulse. Steady. Nothing like what she felt a week ago.

"How was your trip?" She asks before his arms tighten around her waist.

"The usual," he mutters, "Nothing you'd be interested in."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He chuckles, tenderly bites her shoulder, and steps away to discard his tie and his shirt on top of the bed. She will take care of it. She always has. "Sweetheart, we've been through this. Just leave the money making to me."

Anna nods and looks away. Out on the street everything remains the same, but inside her mind something is beginning to shift. Another thought occurs to her:

Didn't people create the possibilities for themselves?

She waits for Hans to get in the shower before standing up and walking away from the window with finality. She moves steadily even if her heart is already beginning to beat faster against her chest. She changes, fixes her hair, and then her face. She discards all traces of her jewelry except for the gold band on her left hand—the heaviest of them all; the anchor to the life she has—, and puts them away inside the black leather box Hans once gave her as an anniversary present before going to stand outside their bathroom.

She can hear the water running, and sighs. She can leave right now, but she won't—not yet. Instead, she opens the door and lets herself in. The steam engulfs her in an instant; it suffocates her. She stands by the door and looks at the naked figure of her husband. She studies it, and hates herself for feeling nothing ( _did you ever_?).

"I'm going out to run a few errands," she tells him.

Hans cranes his neck to the right, looking at her through his peripheral vision. "Be back for dinner," he says, "I have reservations."

She nods but he's already turned back around.

"I'm taking the Jaguar," she announces below the sound of rushing water against tile.

She shuts the door behind her, not caring if he's heard her or not.

.

To be alive is so much more different than feeling alive.

This breeze that she feels rushing past her as she speeds dangerously through the narrow roads of Hollywood Hills; this pulsating euphoria coursing through her veins that screams _faster_ while the tresses of her hair fly with the wind. This sensation of doing exactly what she wants to do—this taste of freedom. She had forgotten what it was like.

The sun is still up in the sky, shining brightly onto the city landscape, casting no shades on this bleakness of a road that she can't help but look at through different eyes—wide open; freer. She brushes her thumb against the gold band around her finger and has to remind herself that this is nothing but a taste, nothing but another passing day in the reality that is her life. Even if, for now, this world feels like it could be hers.

She reaches the mansion's gate and has to stop herself from pressing the buzzer right away.

How bold of her to assume that she could be home in the middle of the day. How bold of her to even consider this in the first place—to think that this marriage is worth breaking by the consequences of a whimsical decision.

And how bold of her to know that deep down she doesn't care anymore.

The intercom comes to live with a dialing sound that goes on for enough time that she starts to question everything that led to this moment.

She bites her lip, fixes her hair, exhales through her mouth in an attempt to stay calm. She should return home and forget this ever happened, but when her voice comes through the speaker a shaky breath escapes her.

"Hi," she mumbles, "It's me, Anna."

Silence... followed by the black iron gate opening before her.

Possibilities: a myriad of them as she slowly drives in and parks.

There are no other cars except for the Jaguar and the gray Mercedes, and as she begins to tread over the cobblestones that lead to the entrance, its front door opens, revealing the only sight she's been looking forward to seeing again since last week.

She thinks she should hate herself for it, but she doesn't.

She walks with her arms wrapped around her torso. All this way on top of the hill, it is windy, but it isn't the cold that makes her shudder. Below the intent gaze of those blue eyes she feels vulnerable again, and in the brightness of the day there are no shades where she can hide.

She stops at the foot of the stairs that lead to her. Their eyes connect and a small smile spreads across the blonde's face before she lifts up her hand, beckoning her closer, asking her to hold onto it.

She climbs the two steps that divide them, pondering as she goes that she's already crossed the first line the moment she drove here.

"Can I?" The blonde then asks, and Anna stares before she nods.

She braces herself for this first kiss—prepared; no longer wishing to delay it. Let them cross this line together, she thinks. But the kiss doesn't happen because what Elsa has done instead is far more unexpected. It is a type of intimacy she had not known she could discover again after all these years.

They hug for long enough time that their heartbeats begin to sync; with Anna's arms thrown over her shoulders and Elsa's own tight around her waist. She breathes her in, and wishes not for the first time that reality were different.

They separate after a while and Elsa studies her with those blue eyes that don't cease to make her breath catch in her throat. They roam over her features with quiet relish, and Anna allows it for no other reason than because she wants to be seen.

Something—a down to earth thought—occurs to her then.

"I'm sorry," she says, "You're probably busy and I just showed up at your door without announcement... I know I should have called and checked but... I don't even have your phone number and I'm barely just realizing how absurd all of this was."

Amusement. That is what she finds in Elsa's eyes.

"Is it common for you? To show up at people's houses unexpectedly?"

She shakes her head and glares at the blonde despite the smile that threatens to appear. Elsa's arms haven't fallen to her sides; they are still safely placed around her waist. Meanwhile, Anna: her hands have traveled down from her shoulders to rest over the loosened collar of her white shirt. She catches herself slightly pulling at them and smiles at the dichotomy she herself has created.

She bites her lip; still expecting, still yearning.

Elsa smirks and leans down to place her lips against the shell of her ear, drawing an involuntary shiver out of her, causing a chain of physical reactions. She can feel her smile—it is both unnerving and incredibly arousing.

"Come on," she whispers before searching for her hand and tugging.

They pass the threshold, and with it, another line.

She realizes that this is the first time they've been alone since they've met, and that this is the third time they have been around each other at all. A wild notion if there ever was one, to think that things could escalate so quickly and with so little restrain. To think that she could want someone the way she (has accepted) wants Elsa after knowing so little about her. But to think, as well, that there is something here between them that she has never experienced before. That every touch reverberates before translating into a new emotion; that every time their eyes meet they communicate in a secret language she is desperate to learn.

She follows Elsa with her eyes as the blonde goes to the wine cabinet and opens it. Her white shirt rides up slightly as she stretches to reach the top shelf while the muscles of her thighs flex beneath the black pants she's wearing. Anna's eyes follow everything: every inch she can cover, every curve of her body.

"Are you always in a suit?" She finds herself asking.

"I like suits," Elsa says, turning around with an unopened bottle in her hands, smiling a little. "And dresses, and everything in between." She walks to one of the drawers Anna never got around to check the first night she was here, and pulls out an opener. "I also just came back from a meeting."

"On a Saturday?"

Elsa doesn't open the bottle just yet. She approaches Anna with languid steps, smirking when she catches her looking at the movement of her hips.

"On a Saturday," she replies, "I don't show up much anymore but this time they needed me there."

Anna fidgets with her hands. She feels the cold, metal band around her finger but ignores it, moves past it. Part of her wants to pull at Elsa's shirt; to kiss her and ask her to take her right here in the kitchen, but another—a bigger—part of her wants to keep talking. Ironically, in Elsa's own words, she wants to know the person she can't stop thinking about.

"Are you happy with what you've accomplished?"

The blonde places the bottle on the counter and looks at her with wide, inviting eyes. "Is this your way of breaking the ice?"

She shrugs, feigning shyness. "It's my way of knowing you, yes... but you don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

Elsa considers this for a moment. She bites her lip and releases it and Anna, again, doesn't miss it.

"Do you... want to order pizza first, maybe?"

Anna fights the urge to burst out laughing. If she had known she would drive a Jaguar all the way up to this million dollar mansion right at the top of the Hills with the intention of sleeping with this woman only to end up ordering a medium pepperoni pizza, she would have laughed. She would have let out a roaring laugh at the absurdity of it all.

But all she can do is giggle and say that a pizza sounds lovely.

.

There has been another shift. As subtle and imperceptible as the way young sunflowers chase after the sun.

Under different circumstances, with another person, things would have probably been different. She would have come, and things would have been a hasty fumble of limbs before she could have given herself the chance to think twice.

So what was it about Elsa?

She's had far more than just an hour to think this through. To tell herself that this is a terrible mistake; that this is far from the moralities she was raised to believe. But every glance keeps pulling her deeper. Every little detail she's gotten to discover has taken her farther away from ever wanting to go back.

"Okay... what is your favorite color?"

"Green," she responds easily, "But the green of the trees not the green that you'd find in candies that are supposed to taste like apples... You?"

Elsa smiles and takes her time to answer this question. They're sitting down on the lush, white carpet of her living room. The pizza is gone but the first bottle of wine has remained, and so have their questions—simple and trivial.

But what are humans if not trivialities made up into a messy and complete whole?

"I like blue," she says, "But the blue you'd find in crystal clear waters, not the crayon blue kids always use to color the sky."

"So we both like nature it seems," Anna comments, swirling the remnants of dark liquid inside her glass before taking the last swig.

"So it seems," Elsa whispers. She travels a hand through her blonde hair before placing it back down. This time, however, it doesn't fall on her lap but on Anna's stretched out leg. The touch is innocent albeit purposeful, and Anna feels a rush of warmth travel through her body.

They stare at each other frozen in place, daring each other to make the first move. She feels the hand on her shin twitch a little, move up less than an inch.

"Do you want more?"

"Yes," she breathes without thinking.

Elsa bites her lip but it does nothing to hide her grin. "I meant the wine."

Anna blushes. An embarrassed laugh escapes her just as she goes to cover her face with her hand. "That too," she mumbles, handing Elsa the glass without looking.

They stand up at the same time. While the blonde heads back to the kitchen to pull another bottle out of the cabinet, Anna turns around to look out at the city far below. The sun has already made its way to the western horizon, showing the first traces of imminent sunset. It signals something else too, and with a quickening heartbeat she goes to check her cellphone that she's left atop one of the many marble counters of the kitchen.

There are five missed calls from Hans and four texts. She stares at his name without checking any of his messages. A sliver of fear passes through her heart but it is gone faster than she can hold on to it.

She crosses another line the moment she puts the phone back on the counter.

Possibilities...

There are two outcomes tonight. She could leave right now or she could stay, and Anna makes her decision when she steps through the sliding doors that lead to the garden.

She sees the lights inside the pool go on right before she feels Elsa silently following after her the way she's felt her gaze follow her before. She walks all the way to the edge of the pool and sits down to take her shoes off, watching from the corner of her eye as Elsa does the same after having placed the two glasses of wine far enough from the water.

Anna dips her feet inside, causing ripples as they break in through the surface. The water is cold, and the sensation that begins right at her toes sends a shock through her body.

It is not enough to cool her off.

"I've been wanting to do this for a while," she murmurs.

"Which part?"

Anna turns to look at her. They're sitting mere inches away from each other, so close that they're beginning to breathe the same air. Her hand crawls closer to Elsa's, touching with her pinkie the back of her hand.

"Everything."

She doesn't think twice on this either. She takes Elsa down with her and into the water. It engulfs the two of them at nearly the same time, trapping them for a brief moment in a place where only they exist.

She breaks through the surface first, gasping for air that soon morphs into laughter. Freedom; she could get used to this feeling. And when Elsa breaks through as well with a delightfully surprised expression on her face, Anna thinks that she really, _really_ could.

"You did not—you're _insane_ ," Elsa says through a laugh. She wipes the water off her face before she pushes her head back inside and stands up with sleek, platinum blonde hair.

Anna bites her lower lip. The water reaches past their breasts but she can still see that Elsa is wearing a black brassière underneath her soaked through shirt.

"I _am_ insane," she mutters distractedly.

She paddles closer to Elsa, captivated by the way the water's light casts its reflection against the deep blue of her eyes.

She stops inches away from her, engrossed in her gaze. It is piercing through her like an invitation that she can no longer pretend to refuse. It is asking her to draw closer still; to give in.

Her chest is beginning to rise and fall quicker, her breathing is becoming one of the many things she can no longer control. She can feel this electricity between them; this white heat of attraction that burns her entire body.

She watches the tip of Elsa's tongue come out and wet her already moist lips, and for a long, excruciating second everything around them stops. The air has ceded to run; the water has become still; her thoughts have come to a halt—and she is drawing closer...

The water moves in soft ripples all around them the moment Anna goes to cup Elsa's face and closes the distance between their bodies.

Her lips: they are nothing like Anna has ever felt before. They are soft, warm; addicting right from the beginning. They move deeply and languidly against her own, sucking at her lower lip, caressing it afterwards with her tongue and asking for an entrance that she immediately gives.

Anna moans at the first taste of her tongue before she sucks on it, pushing herself closer to Elsa's body, writhing with shameless arousal. She can feel the blonde's hands pressing against her lower back, trying to encompass as much of her as she can. Barely beneath her conscience she is beginning to realize the inconvenience of having started this in the pool, but right now she can't bring herself to stop. Not when she can feel herself grow wetter every time her head tilts for another ardent kiss; not when Elsa is sucking and nibbling, and moaning into her mouth while her hands begin to travel slowly down to her ass.

She cups her, and Anna follows by wrapping her legs around her waist. She is panting already, pressing her center against anything that will give her the friction she needs. Elsa's mouth then moves from her lips to the lobe of her ear where she nibbles gently and breathes out hot air that sends a shiver down her spine.

When Elsa reaches her pulse and sucks on it, Anna moans. It makes her tighten her hold around Elsa's wet, luscious hair. She pulls without restrain—without an ounce of self-control—, causing Elsa to hiss against the skin of her neck.

"Sorry," she breathes.

The blonde looks at her with a pair of darkened irises. She kisses her again—softer this time. With more than just desire.

"What do you want, Anna?" She asks, lips brushing against lips.

Anna doesn't think twice. She moves her mouth to the shell of her ear, grinning mischievously when she hears a gasp escape Elsa's throat.

"You."

.

It could have happened on the large sofa, or by the edge of the pool, or even on the stairs for all she cared at this point. But Elsa had insisted to invite her into her bedroom and onto her bed. It was a line she had not thought she would cross simply because it had not occurred to her to think past this point.

They had reached a point of no return, and Anna wanted none of it back.

Her wet clothes lay discarded on the floor while she lies in bed with nothing but her underwear, watching with earnest attention the way Elsa slowly unbuttons her shirt from where she is kneeling between her legs.

Anna pulls at her arm the moment the white garment hits the floor along with everything else. Their bodies collide the same way their lips clash against each other: with urgent and insatiable desire. The sensation of Elsa's cold skin, the taste of her tongue, the roaming of her hands—it is all too overwhelming.

And yet, she wants more.

Her nails scratch the smooth skin of Elsa's back before her fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra. It draws a chuckle out of the blonde when she groans, unable to set it undone.

Elsa lifts herself up only enough to discard her bra before focusing on doing the same to Anna, her blue eyes keen on following every movement of her own hands as they travel from her bare chest down to the hem of her panties. She tugs once, biting her lip when Anna's hips buckle in anticipation.

_Just do it,_ she wants to say, but nothing comes out except for a deep exhale as soon as she feels the lace fabric of her underwear travel down her thighs, her calves, and away from her feet.

Elsa kisses her again, slower this time; deeper. She can feel every cell of her body tremble as it begs for more. Her hips are searching for contact, her center is damp, and when Elsa's thumb brushes against her hardened nipple she arches her back to the touch. A moan escapes her throat at this small taste of ecstasy.

Her legs spread wider, welcoming Elsa into her body just as the blonde's warm lips begin to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the tender spot behind her ear to the space where her neck meets her shoulder. She bites, then suckles, and all the while Anna quivers at the sensation, thinking that this will leave a mark—caring not one bit.

Elsa continues farther down, kissing her collarbone before reaching the soft mounds of her breasts. She takes a nipple in her mouth, and Anna gasps when she feels her suck on it before releasing it and blowing cold air on her skin.

"Elsa," she breathes, causing the blonde to look up from where she rests above her breasts. She says nothing else. She doesn't have to, because she can already feel Elsa's fingertips playfully traveling down her side, ghosting over the bone of her hips until they hover right where she needs them to be.

She closes her eyes and lets out a throaty moan when Elsa cups her, unaware of the smirk that's been drawn out of the blonde. She feels those lips again, sucking and kissing her breasts before making their way down to her belly. Every touch is intoxicating and so, so slow... So close to the edge of madness that she doesn't remember feeling pleasure like this; doesn't remember the last time her body screamed so loud for release.

When Elsa reaches the place between her legs she spreads them wider, searching for Anna's eyes as she does so, wishing to see her reaction but looking, too, for any sign of hesitation. She gets her answer the moment Anna threads her fingers through her still damp, platinum hair.

The first time Elsa's tongue comes in contact with her wet folds shoots a quivering sensation all the way up to her chest. It makes her hips buckle inadvertently as it looks for more.

Anna scratches lightly at her scalp every time she leans down again, the tip of her tongue grazing so slightly; tasting her. It causes her toes to curl and her chest to rise and fall with erratic breaths. And when her tongue finally reaches her clit with a single, languid lap, Anna nearly comes undone.

From between her legs, Elsa gives her the insurmountable pleasure of sex. She takes her time licking and sucking, teasing her entrance with the tip of her tongue. She savors her while Anna moans and her free hand holds onto the sheets of the bed—harder each time her tongue moves just right.

She feels herself get closer and closer while her back arches in anticipation and her fingers grip tighter at Elsa's hair. The blonde is incessant with her tongue. She can feel it moving against her clit; changing paces, circling before sucking on it. She can feel her moans resonating against her.

But Elsa stops right before she reaches the edge, pulling herself back up despite Anna's weak and hazy protests. She clashes their lips together, wasting no time in pushing her tongue inside her mouth. Anna can taste herself as she pulls the blonde's body closer to hers. She feels a hand touch her center. It travels wetly up and down her folds before it slides two fingers inside.

" _Fuck_ —"

Anna throws her head back in pleasure at the sudden sensation. She has barely the time to see Elsa watching her with dark, heavy-lidded eyes before she closes her own, lost in the way Elsa's fingers move slowly inside of her.

She drags her nails down her back, moaning louder, asking Elsa not to stop.

She doesn't last much longer. All she needs is one last thrust for her body to implode with an orgasm that shoots straight down to her toes before rushing back up to her chest, sending her into a hazy state of mind blowing pleasure.

She comes down from her high seconds later; her thighs quivering, and her center still throbbing. She sucks in a breath the moment Elsa pulls her fingers out of her, and shudders when she passes a single damp finger over her sensitive clit.

" _Fuck,_ " she mumbles again.

"That's not my name," Elsa teases.

Anna chuckles, then laughs. She feels happier than she's been in a while, and it is not just because of the sex.

They stare into each other's eyes afterwards, breathing in each other's air. Communicating, once more, everything through the silence that surrounds them. Anna lifts her hand up to caress her cheek, smiling softly when she sees her leaning into the touch. 

"Do you—" Elsa begins, "Can you stay a while longer?"

Anna tilts her head to the right. The sun is gone. The time, she doesn't know it. But so many lines have been crossed today that one more feels inconsequential by now. Her past and her present have crumbled all around her the moment she kissed Elsa for the first time.

She figures it could have been anyone eventually, but in this cynical irony that is her life, Anna is grateful that it was her. Because there is something in this energy they share that is more than purely physical attraction.

And so tonight, she decides, she will begin to create her own possibilities.

Not for Elsa, but for herself.

Her hand travels down to the blonde's waist before gently pushing her to lie on her back. Once on top, she kisses Elsa—a soft, yet deep kiss that breaks only for her to say:

"I'll stay."


End file.
